


Hiccups

by TheMouthKing



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Anal Sex, Hiccups, Laughter, M/M, PWP, Pure Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:06:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24563578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMouthKing/pseuds/TheMouthKing
Summary: Link has hiccups when they fuck post-filming GMM the first week back in studio.
Relationships: Rhett McLaughlin/Link Neal
Comments: 28
Kudos: 88





	Hiccups

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sohox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sohox/gifts).



> I'm still here. 
> 
> Blame soho-x for encouraging me to do this. 
> 
> This is what it says on the tin. I'm not sorry. We all need some pure stupid fun during these awful days.

“ _Hic!_ — ohh…”

Rhett can’t help the little giggle that erupts from him at that, the fact that Link’s hiccups were somehow _worse_ now. At the start, Rhett had convinced him it’d probably get rid of his hiccups, what with all the moving and different breathing, and hell, Link hadn’t really needed convincing for a good reunion fuck in their office, but the both of them enjoyed holding it up like an excuse. Except now it seems like it’s not working.

“Stop laughing at me,” Link complains and swats at Rhett’s chest as he works himself down on Rhett in a slow grind, thighs spread as wide as he can because he wants Rhett in as deep as he can get him, wants to feel that perfect blunt head pressing in just _there._ But it’s sullied by the fact that he’s dreading the next hiccup, practically counting down to it so he can try and hush it up. What are they like, every ten seconds?

He’s supposed to be keeping his mouth shut, metering his breath in the last seconds to keep the next hiccup quiet, but he shifts and feels this incredible rush of pleasure spark through him exactly where he needed it, and he forgets himself, head tipping back, lips parting with a moan that amplifies the hiccup impossibly, comically loud.

Rhett’s big hands had been cradling Link’s thighs and sweeping up, thumbs dragging along the soft skin along the inside when Link let loose that hiccup like it had been belted out through a megaphone, and his eyes went round and wide as pie-plates as he bore witness. He doesn’t want to laugh, he doesn’t want to fuck this up because Link’s body feels so damn good and it’s been so long since they’ve had a chance to fuck due to the quarantine, but he’s got no choice in the matter; he’s absolutely wrecked with laughter. One arm curls up and drapes over his chest, both because that’s a natural move for him — to grab for a titty when he’s caught in a fit of laughter — and as self-defense against the retaliation he knows is coming his way.

“Stop!” Link is desperate for Rhett to stop laughing because the only thing that could be worse than hiccuping through sex would be to laugh and hiccup through sex, because he _knows_ that when he hiccups mid-laugh it sounds so incredibly stupid and _dear god_ , all he wants is to get off right now but Rhett is ruining the moment.

“I can’t help it!” Rhett manages somehow, laughter still shaking through his chest and he watches the way Link moves on him start to change, like he’s chasing something, looking for something new.

Link is squirming his hips because he can feel the motion of Rhett’s laughter inside him, the rhythmic jerking of it transferred through that cock buried inside him and it feels fucking good. It’s not the first time they’ve broken into laughter mid-fuck, but it’s certainly the longest stretch and a brief flash of something pops into Link’s head: _washing machine._ Suddenly, he wonders if this is the punchline of that joke about women liking the deep rumble of the washing machine. Maybe he doesn’t want Rhett to stop laughing.

Lips parted, Link hiccups again and it’s mingled with a broken little whimper and sounds absolutely pathetic, and he grimaces in response — desperately trying to hold back a helpless smirk because even _he_ recognizes how stock-stupid this is, one that definitely wouldn’t help his case in getting Rhett to stop — just _waiting_ for Rhett’s renewed laughter.

“Don’t even look at me!” Link slaps a hand down on Rhett’s belly, satisfied at the loud skin on skin _thwack_ of it, and moreso when Rhett’s laughter starts to end in lower ‘ho ho ho’s,’ registering the slap and trying to throw on the brakes.

“You’re on my dick though, what else am I supposed to look at?”

Link realizes he’s being unreasonable. That doesn’t mean he’s capable of dialing it back right now, because he can’t keep up being laughed at for his hiccups if he’s going to have any prayer of getting off.

“You’re laughing!” Link manages, rushed, wanting to get the words out before another hiccup comes.

“You’re ridiculous!” Rhett throws back, and takes in how Link looks like this. His hair is wild, even with the recent home-trim, and he’s red-faced. His glasses are gone, set down somewhere along the way, maybe left on one of their desks downstairs or tangled up in his t-shirt on the floor. The fact that they’d made it all the way up to the loft is a miracle, that they’d landed on the daybed instead of the floor a blessing because they’re both too old to fuck on the floor like horny teenagers who can’t wait.

Link can feel another one coming but he doesn’t want to hiccup because he just wants to ride Rhett’s dick and get lost in how good it feels, but instead he’s thinking about keeping his mouth shut and swallowing down the sound when it comes. He must look like he’s concentrating really hard, because the hiccup hasn’t even come yet and he hears a single hoot of laughter from Rhett, who — when Link looks down at him — has tipped his face upwards, towards the ceiling, and is shaking his head with an insistent _“mm-mnn!”_ as he tries dearly to stop himself from laughing. And Link’s right, he can’t look at him if he’s going to have any prayer.

Link’s actually getting annoyed — he hasn’t even hiccuped! — but as soon as he opens up his mouth to tell Rhett to fuck off, a hiccup erupts as if on cue, and even he can’t deny the humor in the situation. He’s annoyed, exasperated, and so keyed up and horny and unable to focus on getting off he could die, but fuck if this wasn’t the stupidest situation he’s gotten himself into in a long time. Eyes screwed shut, he’s laughing at himself in disbelief, hands braced on Rhett’s hips so he doesn’t fall because he can’t well do two things at once, let alone with his eyes closed.

There’s a shift then. Rhett groans under his breath and the laughing stops, and Link feels those big hands rub up over his thighs, the crease where they join his hips, encouragement. Selfishly, Link’s hiccups have felt good for Rhett; the sudden jerk of Link’s breath tightening the muscles of his diaphragm are conveyed between their bodies where they’re joined in a brief, tremulous squeeze. But the laughing? There’s a rhythm to it so subtle he wouldn’t know how to describe to him later what it felt like or what he’s trying to chase, but he is, big hands squeezing Link’s slender, muscular thighs. Maybe Rhett’s hoping to distract him into forgetting so he hiccups comically again and keeps laughing, but the reality is he hasn’t got much capacity for rational thought right now.

Link goes a real long time without a hiccup then, and neither of them say anything but both of them are thinking it — maybe they’re gone. Maybe they cured Link’s hiccups with Rhett’s dick. That thought strikes Rhett absolutely _hilarious_ but he’s not laughing now because Link’s responding to the tight grip Rhett’s got on his thighs by bouncing shallowly on his dick, a move he’s pulling off with just the flexing of his thighs and ass, and it’s going to send Rhett into cardiac arrest if he’s not careful.

“ _Fuck_ , you feel so good, so tight,” Rhett breathes the words like praise and worries the soft skin beneath his thumbs in slow circles.

“Yeah- _hic!_ ” Link blurts and screws his eyes shut tight, and snaps with a frustrated, “Fuck!”

But this time Link isn’t letting Rhett’s burst of laughter derail him, instead he’s going on the offensive and doubling down, riding him harder, balls slapping low on Rhett’s belly as he bounces on him, determined to get off even if Rhett can’t keep his head in the game. He’s so fucking close and Rhett feels so good and so big inside him, so he’s going to get off in spite of how stupid and unhelpful he’s being.

“Jesus _Christ_ ,” Rhett groans, head falling back against the mattress, overwhelmed. At this rate, there’s no way this is going to last. He can tell Link is close, he can read it in the rhythm he’d built up starting to fall apart, in the strain of his muscles, belly tight in between heavy breaths like he’s finally to a point where he can’t even fuck and breathe at the same time.

Rhett thrusts up right as Link’s coming down against him and fuck, _that’s_ exactly what he’s been chasing.

“Yeah,” he manages, blissfully free of hiccups and he tries to find the same again, up and back down and desperate for Rhett to rise up and meet him again. Briefly, they hit a wild, erratic rhythm, desperate and headlong, throwing themselves into it entirely and Link is so close he can feel it.

“Please… please, _please_ ,” he gasps, and whether he’s pleading with Rhett not to stop or himself not to hiccup, Rhett’s not sure, but he wouldn’t dare stop now and deprive Link of whatever it was he needed to feel to _move like this._ Link’s like a live-wire, twisting and electric to the touch, throwing off sparks as he grinds himself down on the point where their bodies connect.

Then Link comes, comes _hard_ , finds his spot and grinds down and holds firm and just lets the force of his orgasm take him over. And Rhett watches as it all unfolds, the raw vulnerability etched on Link’s face and the way, even now, his hands still shake. Link’s gasping for air like a diver breaking the surface, like a runner at the end of a marathon, and Rhett has all but forgotten the hiccups because the aftershocks rippling through Link’s body are trembling their way into Rhett’s. Helplessly, he’s following suit with Link, his orgasm coming like tipping a glass off a table in slow-motion — subtle until the inevitable collision.

Rhett’s still in the throes of it when it happens.

_“Hic!”_

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for liking, commenting, and subscribing!


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